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Malak Mattar
I couldn’t see colors anymore
CÉLINE: Where are you now? In which part of the world?
MALAK: I live in London now.
CÉLINE: How was your show?
MALAK: It was a group show with other artists, mostly Turkish and Lebanese. It was a really fun experience. The theme was about home and belonging.
CÉLINE: I wanted to ask you, in your work, there is a palpable sense of home, of belonging. As a Palestinian artist, how do you navigate the line between your personal and the political in your paintings?
MALAK: I don’t feel like there’s anything to align between the personal and the political, because everything I do, whether I like it or not, is political, but I always make sure that it reflects my own personal thoughts, my personal feelings, my family, everything in my present life…
CÉLINE: Your art has traveled beyond Gaza; it’s reaching international audiences. What does it mean for you to share your art with the rest of the world, to share how it has been for you as a Palestinian person?
MALAK: It feels like a beauty being postponed, and it’s like growing up.
You grow up as an artist, and you’re given this title, not only as an artist, but as a voice.
Every time I speak to my family back home, it’s like, what are you working on? Are you producing paintings? Can you share our struggle? Can you share what we are going through? Can you make our voices heard? When my work reaches beyond my studio, it feels like I’m doing what I can, I’m fulfilling my role as a creative.
CÉLINE: Do you feel like it is your responsibility as an artist to carry the voices and the stories of your people?
MALAK: Absolutely. Throughout our history, art has always reflected and documented the political struggle, starting with artists who painted the Nakba, painted their personal stories in 1948 when they were displaced. I found, while growing up in Palestine, an art scene that was blooming and expanding despite the restrictions [by the Occupation] on art materials. Artists have always been very resilient… making alternatives to paints, by using natural pigments, alternatives to canvas, by using other paper, and other materials. Every time art supplies were banned or restricted, artists came up with alternatives. Creation is urgent in the context of Palestine.
CÉLINE: Where did you grow up?
MALAK: In Gaza.
CÉLINE: Who are the artists who have inspired you?
MALAK: I was exposed to Western art in my family house: Van Gogh’s flowers, Edgar Degas’ dancers, Leonardo DaVinci… I saw these reproductions on the walls growing up. My maternal uncle, Nimit Abu Mazen, is an art professor, but he’s also a multimedia artist. He was born in the ‘50s, and he was a teacher for decades, but it’s important to mention that the United Nations commissioned him to do all the school boards in Arabic. For decades, he worked on that while also teaching. His production was very slow, but his work was very, very beautiful. It focused on women from Palestine… So I grew up in a very artistic household.
CELINE: You mentioned restrictions on canvases. What other things was the Israeli occupation forbidding from entering the Gaza Strip when it comes to art materials?
MALAK: I struggled to find canvases, especially after wars, and it took months, sometimes a year… At times, I actually had to smuggle canvases into Gaza… usually through expats who worked in Jerusalem. They bought canvases and brushes and came to Gaza. They were not checked by the soldiers, so they were able to bring art supplies. And that’s how I used to paint in 2021 because for months after the May attack, art supplies were not allowed entry… The art supply stores were bombed in 2021. There’s one store called Pins and Pens. It was in the very center of the city, and it was demolished. And there’s another art supply store that was also demolished. The destruction of art and culture has been going on for many, many years, not just since October.
CELINE: Why do you think the Israeli occupation is afraid of art?
MALAK: They’re afraid of humanization. I would say it’s not art in particular, but any act of us celebrating or painting or writing and sharing poetry is seen as a threat. When the state is built on the delusion that the Other or the Indigenous doesn’t matter, they are dehumanized.
When the Indigenous are called vulgar and are labeled as terrorists, you strip away their humanity. So, any act of humanization becomes a threat because it radically changes the narrative. These people have artists, artistry, an art scene, and art centers. They celebrate theaters. They have book launches. They have music conservatories. Then, they’re not quite the terrorists that the media has portrayed them as…
CELINE: In your paintings, you often use vivid colors and almost dream-like images. What role does symbolism play in your work? And what do you hope your viewers take away from these images?
MALAK: I started painting in 2014 following the murder of my neighbor. She was standing in front of me, two blocks away, and she was torn into pieces. And growing up in the art environment, I was always painting, but not in a cathartic way and not on a daily basis. But since that time, I was driven by an urgency to make political art. I needed to find a way to survive and to distract myself from what I was seeing. There was destruction, there was blood, there was motherhood under bombardment. Then, I started gaining more attention and a following. This gave me a lot of hope. That my struggle was seen. That there were people who really cared. That gave me a sense of mission.
My work started becoming more a celebration, more beautiful. I celebrated the sun, birds, the flowers, and the beauty of the landscape, which I had enjoyed growing up. But then, after October 7, I stopped using colors. I was like, khallas (in Arabic, primarily means “done,” “finished,” “it’s over,” or “enough,” Google AI). This was beyond my worst expectations. I departed from my older style, which was vivid and beautiful, because I just couldn’t see colors anymore. It’s such a depressing time. I’m now slowly going back to colors, but not with the same sense of joy, because I struggle to find joy when my people are being starved.
CÉLINE: Yeah… what colors are you using now?
MALAK: I am using mostly black and white. There is one I showed from 2021; it’s called You and I, which is like two figures embracing each other. And the rest was work I did recently. One of them is a large painting called Gaza. It’s a Phoenix with other elements.
CÉLINE: What is coming for you in the next few months? Your career as an artist has been blossoming. You just illustrated the book of Francesca Albanese (an Italian legal scholar and expert on human rights who has served as the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the occupied Palestinian territories since May 1, 2022, Wikipedia). How did that come about? You and Francesca collaborating together, and what’s coming up for you in the next six months?
MALAK: I met Francesca back in 2010. There is a chapter in her book about how we met, about my life story, and our first meeting in London. When exhibition that the school held, and Francesca was visiting. She asked me if I was selling my work. And I was like, no, they’re not for sale. I was very shy, but then a few years later, she discovered my work, and she made the connection that I was the same child she had met back in 2010, and then we met in London. We spoke, I went to her events, and we had dinners together. And, yeah, before the book came about, she said that she would love to have my work on the cover.
CÉLINE: I love that for you. In the face of ongoing displacement and violence in Palestine, how do you see your work being of service… I think you touched on it in the beginning, saying that it’s the humanization. But if you can expand a little bit more on that and tell me how your work is really an instrument of the liberation.
MALAK: Two million people are starving. When I think of that, it makes me feel that I’m not really doing anything, and then I’m dismissive of my work. I’m being honest. I’m just really doing my role as an artist. Yes, I’m part of the culture. But it’s hard for me to say anything when the genocide is still running, when people are really starving. I don’t feel like liberation can happen from London; I don’t think liberation happens from Paris. We’re protesting, and that’s what we should do. It’s an active protest. In this moment of our history, we are in so much pain and so much trauma…
CÉLINE: I also feel like we are not doing anything or enough. Nothing feels enough. How do you feel about that?
MALAK: It sucks. It’s like this feeling of helplessness. But I also don’t blame myself, because I know that it’s bigger than us.
CÉLINE: Did you lose your home?
MALAK: The family house: it has been flattened. My uncle’s collection, the work he collected… it has all been flattened.
CÉLINE: Oh my God, I’m so sorry. How long have you been in London?
MALAK: I left the day before the seventh of October.
CÉLINE: Oh, my God, really? How did you manage to leave?
MALAK: I was doing my Master of Fine Arts in London at Central Saint Martins. And I was supposed to leave in September, and I couldn’t; I went to the border, and they sent me back. They finally let me cross the border on the fifth of October, through Jordan, and then the sixth of October was officially my first day in London.
CÉLINE: And the next day, October 7.
MALAK: I saw the news, and I was like, I’ve got things to do. I’m running late to my class. But then my mom texted me. She said, the minute I left, they bombed my school. Then they started their evacuation journey. The men got separated from the women, and then they all went south. I come from the north, from Gaza City. But they all went south and stayed there for months, and then they managed to leave.
CÉLINE: Now they are gone?
MALAK: Yeah, they are. They left in March 2024, to Egypt for one year, and they came to London just last month. Yes, we are united. And I had to go to the court to bring them here legally, because they were not allowed entry to the UK. Their visas were rejected. So we had to fight for that family reunification.
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"title" : "Malak Mattar: I couldn’t see colors anymore",
"author" : "Malak Mattar, Céline Semaan",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/malak-mattar",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:10:59 -0400",
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"content" : "CÉLINE: Where are you now? In which part of the world?MALAK: I live in London now.CÉLINE: How was your show?MALAK: It was a group show with other artists, mostly Turkish and Lebanese. It was a really fun experience. The theme was about home and belonging.CÉLINE: I wanted to ask you, in your work, there is a palpable sense of home, of belonging. As a Palestinian artist, how do you navigate the line between your personal and the political in your paintings?MALAK: I don’t feel like there’s anything to align between the personal and the political, because everything I do, whether I like it or not, is political, but I always make sure that it reflects my own personal thoughts, my personal feelings, my family, everything in my present life…CÉLINE: Your art has traveled beyond Gaza; it’s reaching international audiences. What does it mean for you to share your art with the rest of the world, to share how it has been for you as a Palestinian person?MALAK: It feels like a beauty being postponed, and it’s like growing up. You grow up as an artist, and you’re given this title, not only as an artist, but as a voice.Every time I speak to my family back home, it’s like, what are you working on? Are you producing paintings? Can you share our struggle? Can you share what we are going through? Can you make our voices heard? When my work reaches beyond my studio, it feels like I’m doing what I can, I’m fulfilling my role as a creative.CÉLINE: Do you feel like it is your responsibility as an artist to carry the voices and the stories of your people?MALAK: Absolutely. Throughout our history, art has always reflected and documented the political struggle, starting with artists who painted the Nakba, painted their personal stories in 1948 when they were displaced. I found, while growing up in Palestine, an art scene that was blooming and expanding despite the restrictions [by the Occupation] on art materials. Artists have always been very resilient… making alternatives to paints, by using natural pigments, alternatives to canvas, by using other paper, and other materials. Every time art supplies were banned or restricted, artists came up with alternatives. Creation is urgent in the context of Palestine.CÉLINE: Where did you grow up?MALAK: In Gaza.CÉLINE: Who are the artists who have inspired you?MALAK: I was exposed to Western art in my family house: Van Gogh’s flowers, Edgar Degas’ dancers, Leonardo DaVinci… I saw these reproductions on the walls growing up. My maternal uncle, Nimit Abu Mazen, is an art professor, but he’s also a multimedia artist. He was born in the ‘50s, and he was a teacher for decades, but it’s important to mention that the United Nations commissioned him to do all the school boards in Arabic. For decades, he worked on that while also teaching. His production was very slow, but his work was very, very beautiful. It focused on women from Palestine… So I grew up in a very artistic household.CELINE: You mentioned restrictions on canvases. What other things was the Israeli occupation forbidding from entering the Gaza Strip when it comes to art materials?MALAK: I struggled to find canvases, especially after wars, and it took months, sometimes a year… At times, I actually had to smuggle canvases into Gaza… usually through expats who worked in Jerusalem. They bought canvases and brushes and came to Gaza. They were not checked by the soldiers, so they were able to bring art supplies. And that’s how I used to paint in 2021 because for months after the May attack, art supplies were not allowed entry… The art supply stores were bombed in 2021. There’s one store called Pins and Pens. It was in the very center of the city, and it was demolished. And there’s another art supply store that was also demolished. The destruction of art and culture has been going on for many, many years, not just since October.CELINE: Why do you think the Israeli occupation is afraid of art?MALAK: They’re afraid of humanization. I would say it’s not art in particular, but any act of us celebrating or painting or writing and sharing poetry is seen as a threat. When the state is built on the delusion that the Other or the Indigenous doesn’t matter, they are dehumanized. When the Indigenous are called vulgar and are labeled as terrorists, you strip away their humanity. So, any act of humanization becomes a threat because it radically changes the narrative. These people have artists, artistry, an art scene, and art centers. They celebrate theaters. They have book launches. They have music conservatories. Then, they’re not quite the terrorists that the media has portrayed them as…CELINE: In your paintings, you often use vivid colors and almost dream-like images. What role does symbolism play in your work? And what do you hope your viewers take away from these images?MALAK: I started painting in 2014 following the murder of my neighbor. She was standing in front of me, two blocks away, and she was torn into pieces. And growing up in the art environment, I was always painting, but not in a cathartic way and not on a daily basis. But since that time, I was driven by an urgency to make political art. I needed to find a way to survive and to distract myself from what I was seeing. There was destruction, there was blood, there was motherhood under bombardment. Then, I started gaining more attention and a following. This gave me a lot of hope. That my struggle was seen. That there were people who really cared. That gave me a sense of mission.My work started becoming more a celebration, more beautiful. I celebrated the sun, birds, the flowers, and the beauty of the landscape, which I had enjoyed growing up. But then, after October 7, I stopped using colors. I was like, khallas (in Arabic, primarily means “done,” “finished,” “it’s over,” or “enough,” Google AI). This was beyond my worst expectations. I departed from my older style, which was vivid and beautiful, because I just couldn’t see colors anymore. It’s such a depressing time. I’m now slowly going back to colors, but not with the same sense of joy, because I struggle to find joy when my people are being starved.CÉLINE: Yeah… what colors are you using now?MALAK: I am using mostly black and white. There is one I showed from 2021; it’s called You and I, which is like two figures embracing each other. And the rest was work I did recently. One of them is a large painting called Gaza. It’s a Phoenix with other elements.CÉLINE: What is coming for you in the next few months? Your career as an artist has been blossoming. You just illustrated the book of Francesca Albanese (an Italian legal scholar and expert on human rights who has served as the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the occupied Palestinian territories since May 1, 2022, Wikipedia). How did that come about? You and Francesca collaborating together, and what’s coming up for you in the next six months?MALAK: I met Francesca back in 2010. There is a chapter in her book about how we met, about my life story, and our first meeting in London. When exhibition that the school held, and Francesca was visiting. She asked me if I was selling my work. And I was like, no, they’re not for sale. I was very shy, but then a few years later, she discovered my work, and she made the connection that I was the same child she had met back in 2010, and then we met in London. We spoke, I went to her events, and we had dinners together. And, yeah, before the book came about, she said that she would love to have my work on the cover.CÉLINE: I love that for you. In the face of ongoing displacement and violence in Palestine, how do you see your work being of service… I think you touched on it in the beginning, saying that it’s the humanization. But if you can expand a little bit more on that and tell me how your work is really an instrument of the liberation.MALAK: Two million people are starving. When I think of that, it makes me feel that I’m not really doing anything, and then I’m dismissive of my work. I’m being honest. I’m just really doing my role as an artist. Yes, I’m part of the culture. But it’s hard for me to say anything when the genocide is still running, when people are really starving. I don’t feel like liberation can happen from London; I don’t think liberation happens from Paris. We’re protesting, and that’s what we should do. It’s an active protest. In this moment of our history, we are in so much pain and so much trauma…CÉLINE: I also feel like we are not doing anything or enough. Nothing feels enough. How do you feel about that?MALAK: It sucks. It’s like this feeling of helplessness. But I also don’t blame myself, because I know that it’s bigger than us.CÉLINE: Did you lose your home?MALAK: The family house: it has been flattened. My uncle’s collection, the work he collected… it has all been flattened.CÉLINE: Oh my God, I’m so sorry. How long have you been in London?MALAK: I left the day before the seventh of October.CÉLINE: Oh, my God, really? How did you manage to leave?MALAK: I was doing my Master of Fine Arts in London at Central Saint Martins. And I was supposed to leave in September, and I couldn’t; I went to the border, and they sent me back. They finally let me cross the border on the fifth of October, through Jordan, and then the sixth of October was officially my first day in London.CÉLINE: And the next day, October 7.MALAK: I saw the news, and I was like, I’ve got things to do. I’m running late to my class. But then my mom texted me. She said, the minute I left, they bombed my school. Then they started their evacuation journey. The men got separated from the women, and then they all went south. I come from the north, from Gaza City. But they all went south and stayed there for months, and then they managed to leave.CÉLINE: Now they are gone?MALAK: Yeah, they are. They left in March 2024, to Egypt for one year, and they came to London just last month. Yes, we are united. And I had to go to the court to bring them here legally, because they were not allowed entry to the UK. Their visas were rejected. So we had to fight for that family reunification."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "One Year of Narrative Power, Built by Us All",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/everything-is-political-one-year-of-narrative-power-built-by-us",
"date" : "2025-09-08 16:31:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/250527_EIP_NYC_0014.jpg",
"excerpt" : "After a full year of independent publishing, we’re finally holding our ninth issue in hand. On the cover: Francesca Albanese, eyes closed, lips curved in a sweet, knowing smile, photographed by Misan Harriman—and this moment struck me: Everything Is Political has quietly shifted into something far more mainstream than most would admit.",
"content" : "After a full year of independent publishing, we’re finally holding our ninth issue in hand. On the cover: Francesca Albanese, eyes closed, lips curved in a sweet, knowing smile, photographed by Misan Harriman—and this moment struck me: Everything Is Political has quietly shifted into something far more mainstream than most would admit.Our week opened with a powerful wave: dozens of actors pledging not to work with studios complicit in funding Israel’s genocidal campaign in Gaza. That momentum soared when the Wembley Benefit Concert announced Portishead is reuniting for Palestine—alongside dozens more artists joining the star-studded lineup.Meanwhile, the film The Voice of Hind Rajab just won the Grand Jury Prize at the 2025 Venice Film Festival, spotlighting Hind’s mother’s desperate plea to flee Gaza amid life-threatening danger. When American media initially misrepresented Hind—a six-year-old girl—as “a woman killed in Gaza,” it was a glaring injustice. But we cannot—and will not—let Hind’s voice be silenced or distorted.These may feel like small victories against the backdrop of Israel’s ongoing, brutal onslaught. Yet when the U.S. Department of Defense even toys with rebranding itself the “Department of War,” you know there’s an abyss of militarism and empire at play. That’s precisely why cultural wins matter: culture shifts policy. In an era riddled with despair—from climate collapse to genocide in Gaza, Sudan, Congo, Syria—these cracks in the façade are profound.We see the world stirring: Indonesians setting fire to their parliament, Nepal rising against censorship, mounting humanitarian crises spurring uprisings the world over.Everything Is Political stands at the crossroads of these struggles. We’re expanding our infrastructure to safeguard free expression, cultural self-determination, and the sacredness of the First Amendment.Unlike the fragile, capitalist platforms of Silicon Valley—the whims of Patreon, GoFundMe, or even the hottest newcomers like Substack—our infrastructure is built by you. Member-funded, sovereign, resilient. Soon, we’ll be able to bring hundreds more voices into our fold without ever compromising our independence.We are a true collective—the diaspora, the displaced, the Global South at home and on the move. We print. We archive. We amplify. We connect dots where no one else will.If you haven’t already, consider joining us. A yearly membership brings you our printed issues delivered to your door—and, more critically, sustains the independent media ecosystems we all rely on.Our infrastructures matter now more than ever—your support keeps them alive."
}
,
{
"title" : "The Art of Witnessing",
"author" : "Misan Harriman, Céline Semaan",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/misan-harriman",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:11:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Misan_Harriman_2.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "CÉLINE: I came across your work as a fashion photographer, and I want to talk about your trajectory from fashion to politics. Obviously, everything is political. How has the industry responded, both publicly and behind closed doors, to your vocal support for Palestine?MISAN: I am so disappointed in many industries, but the fashion industry in particular has really surprised me, because so much of its wealth has come out of the Global South, and so much of its value chain is built off the backs of those in the Global South. They have been somewhat vocal about the things that are safe to be vocal about over the years: queer rights, climate, and Black Lives Matter. However, I’ve never seen such silence over Palestine, across the board. I can’t think of a big fashion influencer who has made a very strong statement on Palestine at all in the last two years, at least in film and music. We can pick a handful, but I’m just thinking of a fashion icon, a big, big name, whether they’re a model, fashion designer, or fashion editor; I can’t think of one.My life was changed by shooting a Vogue cover. I cannot deny that. I was ushered into that world without necessarily asking for it. It just happened. And once I got into that world, I realized very quickly that I was a very different character. You only have to go to a few of the parties and meet some of the characters to realize that, beneath the surface, there is not much there. “I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.” I love that Anais Nin quote so much.It’s been really sad because for many women, in particular, fashion has been a singular pillar to hold on to, a way to resist, to thrive, to show who they are against all odds. And for that not to enter this moment we’re in now is deeply disappointing. Fashion has co-opted our trauma. There was the Met Gala this year, highlighting Black dandyism. Anna Wintour is a genius in marketing, and she understands what culture and the zeitgeist is. But there’s a bigger question about how Black culture has been wrapped around white supremacy for too long, whether it’s in sports, music, or film. We have to ask ourselves whether Black excellence hasn’t become part of an imperial structure. I DMed some of my brothers who were involved in this, saying that if they were going to do it, then they should make sure that they have a moment at the Met on the red carpet for the children of Congo, the children of Sudan, and the children of Gaza. I said that if they did that, I would fly to New York with my camera and shoot it. Some of the proceeds would go to medical aid for Palestine. I didn’t hear back from a damn person.In Kendrick’s performance during the Super Bowl, it wasn’t Kendrick who gave permission to that dancer to run with the Sudanese and Palestinian flags, yet the whole show was using revolutionary imagery. It was the most watched show in the world, and it’s literally a show about revolution, and yet we’re living through our Vietnam. You used to see people like Marlon Brando and Charlton Heston, who were complicated white men, march in Washington with MLK and other black civil rights leaders. We don’t have that kind of intersectionality at all right now. We don’t have a Palestine Liberation Movement in the way I wish we had. The irony is that the same demons are at the top of it all: imperialism, extractive capitalism, overt, historical and current white supremacy.CÉLINE: How did you enter the conversation on Palestine? Because you’ve been a powerful voice in documenting uprisings and moments of truth. What was the turning point for you, personally, that led you to speak out about Palestine, despite all the risks for your career and your reputation? It doesn’t come without stigma. What was it for you that was a turning point?MISAN: I’ve always had Palestinian friends. I’ve always had Arab friends. Muslim and Arab people are part of my soul. Our shared collective traumas are so similar in so many ways. I’ve known human beings that the world has told me are terrorists. I went to boarding school, and the Black boys and the Arab boys… we survived together. But there’s also the thing that (before October 7) really made me think… It wasn’t just the assassination of Shireen Abu Akleh (a Palestinian-American journalist who was killed by Israeli forces in May of 2022). That was bad enough, but what changed me, almost at a molecular level, were the images of her funeral. When I saw the IDF soldiers beating up her family members whilst they were holding her coffin. For me, that was it. You don’t need to explain or debate anything else. I was like, okay, I need to do more.How did we get to the place where the security apparatus for a nation that calls itself the only democracy in the Middle East can beat up family members at a funeral of their sister, a woman who was assassinated in cold blood just for trying to make sure the truth stayed in the room? I read everything I could. Also, I have a family connection with apartheid. My father had one brother… the two Harriman men were very well known in Nigeria. One went to Oxford, one went to Cambridge; it’s kind of like the Cain and Abel story in many ways. Both were brilliant men. My dad became this huge industrialist, but my father’s brother became the first chairman of the United Nations Special Committee Against Apartheid. If you Google Ambassador Leslie Harriman, a picture of him smoking a cigar in traditional Nigerian dress with Muhammad Ali in the UN pops up. Activism, working against apartheid, is part of my family heritage.And then there’s a small detail of me being born in Nigeria, and my parents being born in Nigeria, which was an occupied country by the same folks that created this mess in the first place. Nigeria, which is now Africa’s most populous country, was named by Flora Shaw, Baroness Lugard, a white lady. Imagine the power of that. One person named us, like my children named their teddy bears. I have some stock in the game. How the hell could I see the West Bank and Gaza and not recognize what was being done to them from my own heritage and lived experience of the colonial mess that all of us were born into? I read about the Sykes-Picot Agreement (a 1916 secret treaty between the United Kingdom and France, with assent from Russia and Italy, to define their mutually agreed spheres of influence and control in an eventual partition of the Ottoman Empire – Wikipedia), and I realized what was done to the Arab people.CÉLINE: Historically, there is solidarity between Black and Arab liberation movements, African and Middle Eastern solidarity. For instance, after Malcolm X traveled to Palestine, the struggle for Black liberation in America became grounded and rooted in liberation for Palestinians. Often this discourse is erased when we talk about Malcolm X. Lisa al Hassan who is Syrian and one of our fellows and advisors at slow factory, did her PhD on Malcolm X and his connection to Palestine and all the work he did to legitimize the solidarity between Black Americans and Palestinians… there is a larger solidarity between Black and Arab folks internationally. And you just pointed to it so perfectly…MISAN: There is a community in Palestine of Nigerians… Nigerian families that have been there for over 100 years. People forget that there are black Palestinians. No one in the Western media wants Black folk in the Western world to understand that. People find that to be a very dangerous thing for obvious reasons. Palestine has taken off the veil of what the world is. There is the madness of the colonial settler project all around the West Bank. There is the ridiculous categorization of Palestinians as Arab Israelis. What’s happening in Palestine is making mothers in Ohio wake up to the fact that the US military machine isn’t the good guy. Something about this moment has lifted the veil not just on imperialism and the for-profit war machine, but on the fact that many of us were like spectators in the Coliseum, watching Gladiators fight to the death during the Roman Empire, not realizing that everything was falling apart as we were being entertained. Russell Crowe’s character in Gladiator asks, “Are you not entertained?”We’ve been dumbed down by going to Taylor Swift and Beyoncé concerts. We have been dumbed down by being hyper-focused on tribalization, on whether you support Arsenal, or you’re a Chicago Bulls fan; we have been dumbed down by the post 9/11 racism. The dehumanization of Black and Brown identities through entertainment is effective. Claire Danes running around the Middle East in Homeland, or a myriad of different films where the baddie, an Arab man, is either a rich fool or a terrorist. He cannot be a philosopher or a teacher or a lover or a father or just a deeply complicated, nuanced, imperfect soul who deserves a right to thrive. The Arab woman has been reduced to some sort of terrorist bride. I have bathed in the history of our collective past in a way that few in my position have. There’s a reason why I’m not asked to be interviewed on big shows…CÉLINE: I didn’t know the depth of your understanding of all this. I’m delighted. What an alignment. This is exactly why we created this platform. We are building collective liberation with our work through our ethnic struggles. It’s not an isolated struggle.MISAN: We’re dealing with a very well-organized machine… Zionism is part of a bigger, and in many ways uglier machine, which is capitalism. That’s what’s making this world so wounded, whether we’re talking about climate or marginalized groups like the Trans community. I can understand how many people are scared to resist because the cost is usually to their livelihood, and that’s what’s so dangerous about this for artists. Many artists are with us, maybe not in the same way I am… they haven’t gone down your rabbit hole or mine, but they recognize that children shouldn’t be treated in this way. They recognize that apartheid and settler colonialism are wrong, but they also have a team of publicists and managers who are telling them that they will never work again. I think of Omar El Akkad’s book title, One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This.I’m not here to judge; if anything, I’m here to say, hold my hand, and we’ll figure out how to build a new circular economy to support all of us. I was talking to Malak Mattar (a great Palestinian artist), and I’m just like, it’s crazy that there isn’t a fund designed to make sure poets, dancers, filmmakers, photographers, all of us, don’t second guess, as we charge ahead, using our art as one of the great soft powers of resistance. And she’s like, but that’s how they win, right? There’s so much Arab wealth, Global South wealth… If one percent of it was used to make sure art survives… we are fighting tooth and nail to keep the lights on, because 99% of the real money is in Blackrock and mega hedge funds. There’s a reason why someone like Zuckerberg can come up with an idea, a good idea.How many Arab women have been invested in on the tech side of things? I know investment in Black women is next to zero. I’m pretty sure it’s the same for Arab women. Most founders of the big unicorns that are destroying the world right now are men. In fact, almost all of them, whether it’s Elon Musk or Jeff Zucker, former President of CNN, are men. I think that’s something that we really must look at. I do not believe women are perfect, but there is something within matriarchy that hasn’t got that scorched earth button. I did some research on mass shootings in America, and I think there has only been one woman who has committed a mass shooting in almost 100 years, which is crazy, because women are abused. Women have crazy dads who give them a machine gun for their 16th birthday, but there’s something that stops a woman from walking into a school and just spraying babies to death. I then went further and looked at women on death row, and most of the women on death row had done awful things, but they were singular in nature. Poisoning your husband because he fell in love with someone else, that kind of thing. They weren’t massacring children. Since that’s the case, don’t you think that maybe we should have women in the room when it comes to military decisions, when it comes to how much we spend on defense, when it comes to our health care, when it comes to climate?Most of the horrible decisions that have been made, like dropping nuclear bombs, have been made by men. I hate the sexist, misogynistic retort, “What about Margaret Thatcher?” She had to become the machine to get to where she got to. She had to turn herself into part of the patriarchy. In order to be in a position of power, she had to become part of the same machine that is destroying all of us.CÉLINE: My philosophy teacher in Lebanon said, “Oppressive systems are afraid of two things, love and ideas, because both of these things open up the door to possibilities. It’s not the system. It’s just a system. And so when you say that artists like Malak Mattar and Slow Factory and creatives should be supported, you are literally calling for disruption. True disruption comes from the arts, from freedom of expression. True creativity is feared; that is why PBS is being defunded and Colbert is being canceled. We’re seeing all the things at the intersection of education and entertainment being taken down. Why is that?MISAN: It’s the greatest weapon we have. It’s the only magic that Homo Sapiens have. Otherwise, we are the same as the primordial soup we came from. It’s what sets us apart from the rest of the natural world and makes us really, really special. I was worried about my show, only because of the crazy, unhinged response people have to anything that humanizes the Palestine Solidarity movement. This is why, for years, artists were arrested and killed, and archives were destroyed. No one has ever come after me for my images of women’s rights and the anti-racist movement. But there’s something about how I’ve managed to shoot Palestinian protests in LA and Johannesburg… At the time of this interview, the show has only been open to the public for five days… but the gallery space has already become a sanctuary. At the opening, a Lebanese lady collapsed and fell into my arms. She looked up at me with red eyes and said, “Now I know what art is.” So many Arab men, Muslim men, walk in and cry, and then I get phone calls from powerful forces who damn near threaten my life and tell me to shut it down.CÉLINE: That’s why we want to print it. That’s why we want it everywhere. That’s why we want to support it.MISAN: I found a very brave Black-owned gallery to take this on. You know, as well as I do, that this show would never be at the Tate. It would never be at any of the major spaces. Yet, everyone has the subject on their minds. How does that make sense?CÉLINE: We have the superpower to bring to life things that are being experienced and ignored, or silenced, or purposefully kept quiet. There is a war on our bodies, on our land, on the Palestinian bodies, on the Sudanese bodies, on the Congolese bodies, on the Asian bodies, on the Tibetan bodies. And, there is a global movement of liberation. Palestine is the soul of that. Because, as you said, what’s happening in Gaza and the worldwide protests in response to the genocide are awakening people. People are seeing pictures of people uprising, of people rising into courage. That’s what this is about. This is about uplifting, showing that there is a door, there is a way, there is a path. That you don’t need to sit in pain. You can do something. What is the ultimate action you wish to inspire through your work?MISAN: I want people to know that they’re not alone. Nina Simone was asked, “What does freedom mean for you?” And she said two words, “No fear.” I can feel you shaking when you look at my photos… let’s let that vibration become purpose, and let’s keep walking. I hate to bring this up, but we don’t have a choice in terms of the attention economics of our time. What I mean by that is the most followed people in the world are celebrities, sports figures, singers, and actors… The reason I’m behind the scenes doing everything I can to make some of the biggest ones speak is not because I look up to them… I think many of them are false idols, straight up. But human nature is a very interesting thing. And politicians will not make decisions out of their moral compass. But they will make decisions out of vanity, and the court of public opinion. And I’m telling you now, if you had the soccer stars, Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi, David Beckham, and Mo Salah, the whole Kardashian clan, and Adele come together, week in and week out, demanding our politicians do something, it would make a huge difference…The public is with us. In the rain yesterday, at the protest in London, we were there in the 1000s… I’m a Save the Children Ambassador for UNICEF, which is the biggest humanitarian agency for children. UNICEF has one job, which is to protect children globally… and yet there are children in a postage stamp-sized place with no airport that is walled in, where they are being shot by snipers, and rotting in incubators… There are Save the Children ambassadors, some of the most famous people in the world, who haven’t said anything. I’m just keeping it real with you. I’m the least famous kind of global ambassador for some of these large organizations. And many people say I’m the most vocal. It’s madness. I am not here to scream at you, “How dare you?” It’s past that. There are too many babies dying. I’m on my fucking knees begging you to say something. But if you don’t want to say something, leave these organizations and get busy living your fabulous life, ignoring the humanity of the children that need you most, but do not stay associated in any way with a children’s charity and say nothing for the children of Gaza, specifically Gaza…"
}
,
{
"title" : "Isis Dunya: Is living her best life",
"author" : "Isis Dunya",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/isis-dunya",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:10:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/isis-dunya-IMG_2855.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "EIP: How did you start your career in fashion? What inspired you to enter that field?DUNYA: I started my brand eight years ago, after a trip to Lebanon. I moved to Beirut and felt a strong need to create a brand that truly represents my community. I saw that fashion was full of cultural appropriation and driven by capitalism, and I wanted to create something that looked like me, felt like us, and brought us together.EIP: You made everything yourself, so every piece has your special touch, which is rare when it comes to fashion these days. Tell us about your process.DUNYA: When I started this brand, I didn’t have many resources at first, which actually became a blessing. It allowed me to handle everything myself and fully express my identity and way of thinking through each piece. I choose the fabrics, make the patterns, and do the fittings and adjustments. I also do the photography, artistic direction, casting, production — sometimes even the catering during shoots! Over the years, I’ve started collaborating with freelancers, but I still carry most of the workload myself. This way of working has given me real independence and freedom. Producing everything in my own studio, making it in Paris, and fighting against fast fashion is a daily battle, but it’s also a strong commitment that defines my brand.EIP: What’s the connection between sustainability and fashion for you?DUNYA: As an Arab woman, I’ve always been deeply affected by the vicious cycle we get trapped in as part of the so-called “global South.” We end up supporting fast fashion, even luxury fashion, without realizing that behind these brands, there’s often the same exploitation — usually of racialized and marginalized people. Whether it’s a cheap fast fashion piece or an expensive luxury item, it’s still built on the same system of overproduction and exploitation.It frustrates me to see how we become both victims of and active participants in this system instead of supporting our own designers or finding alternative ways of producing and consuming fashion. Especially for marginalized communities, fast fashion is often the only accessible option, which makes the problem even more complex.That’s why I created my brand: as a way to break this cycle, reclaim our power, and propose a more conscious, community- based approach to fashion.EIP: Where do you find inspiration?DUNYA: I’m of Turkish and Algerian origin, born and raised in Paris. As a child, I traveled to Algeria often, but during my teenage years, I had to stop going because of family reasons. That distance really shaped me. It pushed me to look deeper into anti-capitalist ideas, traditional clothing, and non-Western cultures.I’ve always felt different. Even in middle school, I had my own style; I wasn’t like everyone else. I was fascinated by how clothes can express someone’s singularity and personality. My inspiration comes from everywhere: Paris, my travels, and my neighborhoods. I live in the suburbs, in the 93 — the poorest department in Paris, often labeled as “no-go zones.” But for me, it’s home, and it’s full of life and beauty.The people the fashion world ignores are the ones who inspire me most: an aunt going to the market in her traditional robe, a family dressing up in matching outfits for Eid, an uncle going to the mosque with his cane and a pop culture T-shirt. I don’t care about runways, about “clean girl” aesthetics, or what’s trending on the Left Bank. I care about real people and real stories. That’s where my creativity truly lives.EIP: How does your Arab culture in Paris come to life in your work?DUNYA: My Arab culture is everywhere in my work. I love going to local markets in Montreuil or in my neighborhood, wearing a djellaba and feeling fully myself. What I love most is being able to show both sides of me: one night I can go to a fancy party in a mini skirt and heels, and the next day I’m in a djellaba and Nike TNs.My personality is built on these two worlds: being a “baddie” and being a girl from the hood. In France, there’s a real problem with how Arab women are seen. The term beurette, for example, is a very negative, fetishizing word that reduces Arab women to stereotypes. Through my work, I wanted to destroy these codes and show that we can be whoever we want to be.We can be glamorous, sexy, and modest all at once. We don’t have to fit into a box that society or the fashion world wants to put us in. For me, it’s about the freedom to be yourself without caring about the gaze of others.I also had to fight against patriarchy within my family to get the freedom I have today, and I’m proud of that fight. Through my clothes, I want my community to feel the same: come as you are, be what you want to be, and don’t let anyone define you.EIP: You have such wonderful energy. What words do you live by?DUNYA: I truly feel guided by a force since I started this brand. Even though it’s extremely hard to survive as an independent label, I know my work has a real purpose. When I see how women leave my studio — empowered, seen, and represented — I know why I do this.I created this brand so that racialized women, women who wear the veil, women with curves, and women who want to feel sexy can finally feel understood and included. No other brand has done what I do; deciding that each woman is different and that all deserve to be accepted and celebrated.Even after seven years, I have no regrets. My work is meaningful, and so many women see themselves in it. That’s what keeps me going every day. I’m deeply passionate, I aim high, and I know in ten years, I’ll be even further.Humility and honesty also guide me. My work is honest; I never compromise on my vision or my values. That’s what keeps me true to myself and to my community.EIP: If you could be the creative director of a fashion house, which one would it be and why?DUNYA: I would choose Jean Paul Gaultier. In the ‘90s, his approach was so punk and revolutionary — he put Black, Arab, and queer people on the runway at a time when no one else dared to. For me, he’s a designer who has always stayed close to the people.In terms of values and energy, it’s the house that resonates with me the most. It feels authentic, inclusive, and bold — just like what I try to express in my work."
}
]
}
